


Let Sleeping Dragons Lie

by Ailelie



Series: The Unspeakables [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Book/Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen, Implied domestic & child abuse, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-11 00:28:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ailelie/pseuds/Ailelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The students who will one day become part of the Unspeakables complete their second year at Hogwarts. In this chapter of their school experience, the story starts to darken for two characters. Ficlets include Steve being a gentleman, Jane learning an answer, Pepper bemoaning Potions, Clint shooting arrows, and Bruce falling apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Sleeping Dragons Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Four things:
> 
> First, the last section of this chapter does have some implied domestic and child abuse in Bruce's family. The last section is also in present tense. While I will normally keep each story in this series one or the other, I could not get this ficlet to work in past tense. Apologies.
> 
> Second, as you may have noticed by now, the title for each story in this series comes from an Avengers issue title. This is the first time I've used a title word-for-word, however. The issue number, for those who care, is #41.
> 
> Third, The Mackinaw Academy of Wizarding Arts or Mac is personal fanon and one of the major wizarding schools in America. I created Mac ages back and I know too much about it now not to use it. This will probably never be relevant to this story again.
> 
> Fourth, there is an allusion to a musical in one of the ficlets below. First person to spot it can request and get a ficlet (300-1000k) in this universe.

 

# Steve & Natasha

 

Steve had been raised to give a helping hand when and where he could. So when his grandparents dropped him off at the Platform early, he did not hole up in a compartment and wait, but instead greeted any new faces and offered to help with storing trunks.

When Bill arrived with his father, he noticed Steve helping another student lift their trunk and laughed. "Need any help?" he asked, jogging up to Steve and leaving his own trunk by his father.

"Please," Steve said. "I think someone packed some extra books."

The little boy--Steve knew there was only a year difference, but he couldn't help himself--paled. "That's all right, isn't it? I just saw so many and--"

"It's fine," Bill reassured as he took over the other side of the trunk. "On three?"

Steve nodded. "One, two--"

"Three." The trunk slid neatly into place. Bill clapped his hands along each other and directed the kid toward the sweets trolley. "I take it this isn't the first trunk you've helped with?"

Steve shrugged. "I got here early."

Bill nodded and jerked his head back toward the platform. "Well, let me get stowed and tell my dad 'bye,' then I'll join you on trunk duty."

"I'll wait here," Steve said. He leaned back against the wall of the train corridor, making certain to stay out of everyone else's way. While waiting for Bill, he noticed another red head he knew. "Natasha," he said, smiling and raising a hand toward her.

Natasha turned and looked at him blankly. Her eyes narrowed for a moment, then she said, "Rogers," and kept on moving. Steve frowned, hurt. He started to go after her, to see if anything was wrong, when Bill returned with a short girl who looked several years too young for Hogwarts. Steve gave one more glance toward where Natasha had gone and then turned back to help Bill and the girl.

Steve did not think of Natasha's odd behavior on the train again until it was a month into the school year and he realized that he had not once seen her practicing on her beam. Rather than approach her, he drew a quick sketch of the clearing and wrote 'Did you forget about me?' in a speech bubble extending from balance beam. He borrowed Clint's owl to send the sketch before he could second-guess himself.

A week later, Natasha returned. "Rogers," she started, paused, and then said instead, "Steve." She stopped again, her gaze darted around the clearing behind him, not once meeting his eyes.

"Did you figure out anything new?" he asked, inclining his head toward the beam. Natasha stilled, her shoulders lowered a fraction.

"I think so," she said. Then she went to her beam; Steve returned to his sketchbook. He watched her over the edge of his book, concerned when she fell doing a simple cartwheel. Then, however, it was like she remembered herself. Steve remembered one of the dances held at the nursing home he'd volunteered at over the summer. At the start of the evening, people had moved stiffly, but by the end, they'd flowed. A woman in a polka-dotted dress had taught Steve the jitterbug and told him, "Dance enough and it won't matter that your brain can't remember the steps. Your muscles will never forget."

Natasha leaned backward, catching the beam in her hands, and flowed back onto her feet. Then she turned and reached back again, this time jumping. She flipped back, pushed off the beam, and popped back to her feet. Steve clapped lightly. Natasha looked back at him over her shoulder, an uncertain smile pulling at her lips. "I thought you were drawing."

"I can watch and draw at the same time."

Her lips twitched. "Eyes on your paper, Mr. Rogers."

Steve grinned. "But Professor Romanov," he whined, recalling how one boy back on the Platform had tugged at his parents for more money and treats.

Natasha laughed--short, unexpectedly, and beautiful. "I would never teach," she said before turning and flipping again.

Steve shrugged and returned to his drawing. The rest of the afternoon passed in silence. On the way back to the castle later that afternoon, Natasha swiped his sketchbook as she had always done the year before. Steve thought that, maybe, things were finally getting back to normal.

 

# Jane

 

Jane, unable to sleep again, snuck out of her dorm and down to the Great Hall. She'd learned her lesson from the previous year and brought nothing with her other than some catnip in case Mrs. Norris wandered in. She and Tony never did figure out how to change the projected sky. She'd got ensnared by the concept of magic mirrors for long-distance communications and seeing. Tony had—she'd lost track of everything Tony had researched or tried out. She mused sometimes that the only reason Tony hadn't gone into Ravenclaw was his lack of focus.

Jane stretched out on the Slytherin table, pillowed her head on her hands, and watched the sky above. The projection was of the sky somewhere near Glastonbury. Bruce thought it might actually be the sky over Avalon—if Avalon existed. Jane smiled, remembering their short research party into that particular question—quickly followed by the long-lasting debate over which Arthurian myths were based on fact and which were not.

Summer had been surprising. She had not realized how much she would miss Bruce, or even Tony.

"I don't suppose you have permission for being here?"

Jane jumped at the amused, low-pitched voice. She sat up to find a woman in dove grey robes watching her. "Um, I did a project last year and—" Jane bit her lip. Lying was not her forte. Oddly, of her friends, Bruce was the best at spinning a quick and believable story. Tony tried to charm people. Darcy just told the blunt truth and somehow made that work for her.

The woman smiled. "Star-gazing?"

"I couldn't sleep."

The woman nodded as though this was a perfectly acceptable reason for being out of bed and bounds after hours and joined Jane on the table. "It is soothing, I suppose. An utter menace to maintain, of course. But isn't that magic for you?" She shot Jane another smile as soothing as chamomile tea. "Always hiding the work."

"Maintain?" Jane asked, excitement swelling.

The woman reached one hand over for Jane to shake, saying, "Professor Babel, Ancient Runes. One of the trade-offs for not getting saddled with Head of House duties was ceiling maintenance. Want to help?"

"Help?" Jane echoed, her voice squeaking. "Yes, please. How? Is it Runes? Are there mirrors involved? What about a Griffin equation? My friends and I thought maybe—"

Professor Babel laughed. "Why don't I show you?" She pushed off the table and walked to the empty space between the students' eating area and the Head Table. "Come on." Jane joined her. "You were close in your guess about the mirrors in that the sky above is a reflection of another sky elsewhere." While she explained, Professor Babel drew a large circle around them with chalk. "The connection has to be renewed at both locations every quarter. The connection is not based on Griffin, however. You'll have to talk with Professor Vector to get a better explanation of the mathematics that go into the spell. His calculations are what tell me where to redraw the Runes each quarter."

"Do you always draw the same ones?" Jane asked as Professor Babel wrote a glowing symbol in the air at one point along the circumference of the circle.

"No. The location can affect the power of the runes, so once I know where to draw them, I have to decide which will be the most potent. That's why some terms we get very active skies with lots of movement and storms, while in other terms the sky seems almost painted on."

"Will we learn how to do this?" Jane asked.

"If you're in my NEWT class, yes. First, though, you have to learn how to read the runes. Would you like to draw the last one?"

Jane's eyes widened. "I don't know the spell or the rune. I don't want to make a mistake."

"What year are you?"

"Second."

Professor Babel nodded again. "In that case, just place your hand over mine. I want you to visualize a good thunderstorm. Blinding lightening. Thunder so pervasive you can't distinguish it from your heart beat. Rain that soaks you through in only a second. Can you do that?"

Jane bit her lip. "Yes."

"Good." Professor Babel held out her wand, and Jane placed her hand over hers. "Close your eyes and think about the thunderstorm." Jane did. The professor drew her wand down in a sharp slash and then raised her hand again, zagging down and out and then back in, forming a sideways V. Her hand lowered. "You can open your eyes now."

The rune blazed blue-white in the air. When Jane turned away, she could still see it watermarked on her sight. "What now?" she asked.

"Now," Professor Babel replied, "I finish the spell." She walked back to the center of the circle, punched her wand high into the air and called out a spell that Jane could not quite catch. The runes spun around them, blurring into a ring of light. The ring rose and tightened until a still-spinning orb hovered over Professor Babel's wand. The orb grew smaller and brighter until Jane could no longer look at it without her eyes hurting.

_"Caeli contine!"_

The orb shot into the ceiling, exploding in a meteor shower across the projected night sky.

"That was amazing," Jane said.

Professor Babel laughed, suddenly sounding very tired. "Come on, I'll escort you back to bed." Jane followed the professor up to the Ravenclaw entrance. She couldn't wait to tell Bruce about her adventure over breakfast the next morning.

 

# Pepper & Natasha

 

The hazard of partnering with Tony Stark in Potions is that he is a disaster. While Natasha flipped quietly through some book she'd insisted was more important than spending their afternoon break outside, Pepper mentally reviewed the worst stories she'd heard from first year—all of the exploding, melting, and rusting cauldrons, the weird gases, the goop spreading over the cauldron edge and across the desk. One of his partners in first year had received 8 nights of detention in two weeks. Another had gone to the Hospital Wing twice in one week thanks to Stark.

For the past month or so, however, none of that occurred. No one got sick or sentenced detention. The potion did not congeal or boil over or explode or destroy the cauldron. Nothing happened, except what was supposed to happen.

"I don't understand."

"He listens to you," Natasha replied, not looking up from her book.

"No, he doesn't. I think the fact that I am now answering to a _spice_ rather than my actual name is proof of that."

"Today, when he started to add the acrimonium too early, you frowned and he stopped." A sly smile crossed over Natasha's face and she glanced up at Pepper. "Snape is never going to let you work with anyone else."

Pepper winced; she'd already suspected that when Professor Snape had broken his first year pattern and didn't switch the partners out after three weeks. "It's just a year, right? I can handle one year of Tony Stark." Natasha snorted and returned to her book. Pepper sighed. "Maybe if I talk with Professor Snape—" she trailed off, unable to think of anything that would outweigh Stark's typical potions behavior. If only she could ensure Stark started exploding cauldrons again—even if it did mean detention. A plan started unfurling in her mind, she leaned over the table, planting her chin in one palm. She wanted a distraction while the idea germinated. "What are you reading anyway?"

Natasha lifted the book, showing the spine. "Memory charms. A side project."

"Turning Ravenclaw on me?" Pepper teased.

Natasha smirked. "What are your plans for Stark?"

Pepper lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. "Make myself a less competent lab partner, I suppose. I'm considering my options."

"Do you remember the Big Stink from last year?" Natasha asked. Pepper wrinkled her nose at the memory. "Professor Snape smelled like troll dung for a week, as did everyone else in the class. At least you can control Stark."

"So I should sacrifice my sanity for the well-being of the class?" Pepper asked, skeptically.

"No," Natasha replied, rolling her gaze back up to Pepper. "We're not _Gryffindors_. I just think it is better to control a situation than be victim to it."

Pepper pursed her lips. "Perhaps." She raised her chin toward Natasha, indicating her book. "So, is that project anything I can help you with?"

Natasha shook her head and closed the book. "It's nothing. Care to go outside?" she asked, already standing.

"Might as well." Pepper followed her out of the library. Natasha did not mention her side project again, and Pepper did not ask.

When their next Potions class began two days later, Pepper took the seat beside Stark without protest. Stark beamed at her and she smiled back. She'd survived a month; she could handle a year.

 

# Clint

 

Clint figured every family had the thing they didn't talk about. Bill got shifty when he mentioned his uncle. Natasha pretended she'd spent her entire life next door, rather than just her life from about age five. Clint had his brother.

Barney had loved Muggle Studies, always telling Clint stories about Muggle inventions and weaponry. They'd started learning how to use a bow together. Barney insisted that Clint needed a way to defend himself if the war ever got worse. When their parents were gone, which was often, Barney and Clint would practice for hours together. "Always get the high ground," Barney had advised him once, showing Clint how to get up onto the roof of their house. They'd then shot arrows at paper targets lying on the grass below. And, even though their parents had sent him to the Mackinaw Academy of Wizarding Arts in America, Barney wrote Clint every month.

Then the letters stopped.

And his brother never returned home.

Clint pulled back the string of his bow back until the arrow fletching brushed his cheek. He breathed and released. The arrow flew true; hitting the tree he'd been aiming at, but landing a few centimeters shy of the knot he'd been using as a bull's eye. The shot was good, but he wanted better. He wanted to be perfect when he saw his brother again.

As Clint retrieved his arrow, he noticed a familiar flash of red a bit deeper in the forest. Quietly, he crept in further. Natasha was there, doing flips on a narrow bit of wood elevated off the ground. Drawing closer, he noticed Steve Rogers with his sketchbook on the other side of the clearing. Clint stopped.

Natasha had improved since the last time he'd seen her acrobatics. He hadn't known she kept up her practice while at school. He especially hadn't known that she spent time with Steve. Clint quietly returned to where he'd been practicing his aim. He notched another arrow, but this one went wide of his target.

When was the last time he'd spent a day with Natasha? The last time they'd talked? Clint had the uncomfortable feeling that he had lost one of his best friends almost just as he'd predicted ages back before they'd even started Hogwarts.

_"We're going to be enemies, aren't we?"_

The next arrow also missed its target. Clint growled, frustrated. He packed his bow and arrows away and returned to the Gryffindor tower. Maybe he could convince Bill to run some on-the-ground Quidditch drills with him. He didn't think he was going to improve his aim that day.

 

# Bruce & Tony

 

Bruce's life begins to fall apart his second year. Professor Flitwick calls him out of Potions to tell him that his mother is dead. He says 'dead;' Bruce knows he means 'killed.' This isn't the sort of thing a kid should expect, but he had. Of course he had. Bruce isn't sure he feels real anymore—all heavy and hollow like the ghost of a limb.

"Can I go to the funeral?" he asks. He can barely hear his own voice over the howling in his head.

Professor Flitwick's lips move soundlessly. _Of course._

Tony hovers when he hears. Bruce appreciates his silence.

Jane's mouth rolls inward, her brows pull downward. _Oh, Bruce._ He knows she can make sense of his silence, that she knows enough of his life. Her sudden, clinging hug, and then Tony's arm at his back fill all the spaces inside him with warmth—too much warmth. It tightens around his throat and presses at his eyes and then he is sobbing on the floor, his face against Jane's shoulder; Tony's hand running soothingly up and down his back.

His mother is dead. His mother is dead. His mother is dead.

Bruce thinks he can feel Jane's lips move against his ear, but still all he can hear is the howling.

The funeral is small and sad. Tony dresses up in a nice suit and goes with Bruce. Jane unhappily stays behind—her parents unwilling to let her also attend. People talk. Someone plays a song. Bruce stares at the coffin and remembers his mother.

After his mother is beneath the ground, his father lays a tight, heavy grip on Bruce's shoulders. The fingers digging in feel like claws, like the night when he'd learned that while magic is real, so are the monsters. The magic was the real surprise; he'd already known about monsters.

The train does not leave until morning.

Tony still isn't talking. "Why did you even come?" Bruce asks, quiet, blunt, and angry. He glances toward the front of the car to see if his father had heard.

"I know what it's like," Tony says. He is looking out the window. His reflection is a reflection of everything roiling inside of Bruce.

"Thanks."

When they reach the house, his father leaves the engine running, speeding off as soon as the car door is shut. Fear and dread coil like snakes in Bruce's stomach.

"We shouldn't stay here," he says.

Tony cocks his head and gives Bruce a long, assessing gaze. Jane has said something, he thinks. "We'll pack," he says. "Pack everything."

"I can't just—" Bruce isn't sure why he is protesting.

"I need to use your phone," Tony says, striding up to the front door. For a second he looks a lot older than twelve years old.

"Tony," Bruce says, following him up the walk. "He's my _dad_."

"Yeah," Tony says, stepping back so that Bruce can unlock the door. "I know."

Bruce takes a deep breath and enters the house. His mother is everywhere. "I can't leave," he whispers.

Tony doesn't reply. Bruce knows he is only recalculating, not giving in. Bruce packs away his favorite photos and mementos of his mother and shares the stories with Tony. He already misses her so much.

That night, when his father returns home, Tony is asleep. Terrified, Bruce climbs out of bed, steps gingerly over Tony, and goes downstairs. His mother is no longer there to protect him. He can't let his father touch his friend. The stair rail is all he has to keep from falling.

When he wakes up on the downstairs sofa, Tony is staring at him, his mouth in a straight, taut line. Bruce can feel that one eye is swollen, but otherwise the pain is no worse than after a full moon. "Had to escape your snoring," he says.

The line of Tony's mouth deepens. "I'm kidnapping you," Tony says. "I've already packed all of your things upstairs, which you should appreciate, because I don’t pack. I've also called my father for transportation back to the train and for movers."

"And my father?" Bruce asks. He sits up and winces at the pain.

Tony shrugs. "He was asleep. I found a lock and some things in your garage. It won't keep him for long, but if he wakes up, we'll have some extra time."

"You locked up my father." Bruce can't stop the exasperated laugh from gurgling up. Everything is spinning in his head—his mother is dead, his father locked up, his eye throbbing—nothing makes sense.

Tony's lips flicker into a smile, but then fade back into seriousness. "You're not staying here anymore," he says.

"Yeah," Bruce says, too tired to argue, too tired for anything. "Okay."

When school ends, his father does not show up and Bruce goes home with Tony.

And that's just the way it is.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. If anyone wants to be a beta for this series, please message me.


End file.
